


Happy Birthday

by redredribbons



Category: Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redredribbons/pseuds/redredribbons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The troubled Weyland family dynamics grow ever more complicated with a new addition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silveraspen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveraspen/gifts).



> This is my first Yuletide and first fic in this fandom. Happy Yuletide to my recipient, who I hope can find some enjoyment in this fic!

The day, January the 17th, had been routine for Meredith Vickers. That was good; she liked routine. Even as a small child she had found comfort in it. Routine had always been her way of bringing a modicum of order and stability to her world; a world that, in the heart of Weyland Enterprises, had always been anything but. She had awakened at five in the morning, promptly washed and eaten her small, functional breakfast. It was fare normally reserved for soldiers and space travelers. Most people griped about the taste, but Meredith didn’t mind. It contained all the nutrition she needed for the morning and spared her the time waste of more elaborate meal preparation. She’d gotten in the habit of making it as a little girl and the habit stuck, a routine perfected. After a brief rest period, Meredith changed into her black one-piece swimsuit, goggles and cap for her 50-lap morning swim. Weyland Industries had a fully equipped gym and sporting facilities, but early enough in the morning they were deserted. Peace and quiet were hard to come by once the day began in earnest. Such were the drawbacks of Meredith’s rapid ascent through the Weyland ranks. There had been occasional grumblings about favoritism, what with Meredith’s father being none other than Peter Weyland himself, but  such speculation quickly evaporated from those who worked under her. Meredith had a well-earned reputation as a particularly ruthless and effective project manager, tolerating nothing less than impeccable results from others or herself. Her cold, analytical approach won her no friends, but Meredith didn’t go to work to make friends. And the rare few who were more closely acquainted with Meredith or Weyland knew there was nothing resembling favoritism in their relationship.

 

Meredith worked long, long hours. Time was meaningless in the pursuit of results. The day would end only when she was satisfied, and not a moment before. When that achievement was finally earned, her employees breathed a collective sigh of relief and Meredith would retire to her spartan quarters on the Weyland campus to spend what remained of her evening engrossed in studying. Already well-educated, Meredith considered herself a perpetual student. After all, she had grown up in Weyland Industries, watching innovation grow up alongside her. Having inherited her father’s voracious intellect, she had an unending thirst to _know_ ; not simply what, but why and how.

 

On this particular evening Meredith pored over an as-yet-unpublished quantum theory textbook, written by one of Weyland’s lead engineers. Abstract theory wasn’t her strongest suit. Rather than her father’s freewheeling creativity of mind, Meredith was endowed with an unshakable tether to the real and knowable, a complete trust in her own senses. She squinted at the page, frowning in concentration. Her small desk lamp glowed dimly and she sat back, rubbing her temples. _Eye strain,_ she scolded herself, _More light_. She reached for the wall switch, imperiously shoving aside a strand of golden hair that had escaped its tie. That’s when she heard it, a quiet sound outside in the hallway. Footsteps. Rapid but uneven. Awkward and shuffling. Not the footsteps of sure and able body. Meredith’s hand dropped from the switch and her mouth tightened into a hard line. She knew those footsteps, though it had been many, many years since she’d last heard them in this particular hall. She didn’t miss them.

 

“Meredith!” came a hoarse but hearty shout, “Oh, Meredith! Wake up!”

 

Suspicions confirmed, Meredith hissed an exasperated sigh. That’s when the knocking started.

 

“What can I do for you at _this_ hour, father?” she replied icily, tongue souring on the last word. It was the technically correct term for Weyland as he related to her, and nothing more. Daddy, dad, papa; these words seemed swaddled in warmth and affection. Inaccurate.

 

“It’s time!” Peter Weyland exclaimed, undeterred by the frigid greeting, “Won’t you come, Meredith?”

 

“Why?” she shot back, arms crossed. It was petty, unproductive behavior. She knew she’d beat herself up over it later. 

 

“Whatever do you mean? He’s-- he’s-- ready! He’s coming into the world, Meredith! It’s so exciting. He’ll be a new addition to our family,” Weyland said with childlike enthusiasm.

 

“Our ‘family’,” Meredith deadpanned. An arsenal of spiteful words sprang to her lips. _Since when did you consider us a ‘family’_. _Since when was I anything to you other than your lucky ‘accident’ with a too-young, starry-eyed groupie. Another gear in your machine._

 

“Our. Family,” she repeated, biting off each word, “Of course, how absurd of me. You’ve always been a real family man.”

 

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Meredith. Now is _not_ the time. You and I both know that you’ve never wanted for a thing growing up here. I’ve given you everything you could ever _dream_ of wanting. Even the very resources to make your dreams reality. So don’t you dare sneer at me, acting like you’ve suffered somehow. _Especially_ not today,”  Weyland’s voice rose with alarming intensity. 

 

The door flew open. Meredith’s hard, icy grey eyes met their matches, neither yielding. It always bothered Meredith when people remarked she had her father’s eyes, but in times like these, when their mutual resentment bubbled so close to the surface, there was no denying the resemblance. 

 

“Fine. I’ll see him,” Meredith sighed. She hated relenting to her father so easily, but her own curiosity was beginning to rear its head. This was, after all, the culmination of a project decades in the making. 

 

“That’s a girl. You want to see the results, don’t you? Some of your teams’ work was involved, if I’m not mistaken?” Weyland cajoled her. 

 

Meredith nodded silently, already striding ahead. It was true that some of her own work had gone into the project, though she hadn’t been made aware of its full scope at the time. When she found out, she’d never been able to shake the feeling of unease that followed. Normally excited at the prospect of new developments, this one had left her strangely hollow. 

 

* * * 

 

The laboratory door slid silently open with a swipe of Weyland’s key card. Breathless with excitement, he rushed inside. 

 

“Mr. Weyland! Glad you could make it. Take it easy, sir,” a technician said, attempting to steady his unbalanced frame. 

 

“Take it easy! When we’re about to witness the next great leap forward in human progress? When I’m about to witness the-- the-- birth of--” Weyland admonished the tech. His voice shook with emotion and he pushed past her, attention fixated on what look like an upright plastic coffin. 

 

Meredith hovered impassively in the doorway. The whiteness of the room was glaring and uncomfortable. A too-clean antiseptic smell stung her nostrils, sterile and medical. Though Meredith had never had a prolonged hospital stay, the scene still triggered an eerie pang of familiarity. She’d first seen it as a young child, when she’d asked Weyland about her mother. _Madeline Vickers_ , he’d replied distractedly, _You can see her on this recording, if you want. It’s your birth._ Frightened and fascinated, she had watched the recording. She had watched as nurses and doctors flitted around a young, beautiful woman leaning back on a hospital bed. The young woman screamed and screamed and clawed at the bed. The nurses murmured, checked machines and readings, and finally slipped a syringe needle under the woman’s skin. Moments later a doctor fumbled between her thighs then drew back with a wailing, red lump of flesh in his arms. Even then, at such a young age, it had been difficult for Meredith to think of that lump of flesh as herself, and of that stranger on the hospital bed as her mother. The recording ended shortly after, with the sedated woman being wheeled away. Did her mother ever see her again? Meredith didn’t know. 

 

A burst of activity in the lab gave Meredith an unwelcome jolt from her own thoughts. More technicians gathered anxiously around the plastic coffin. Weyland was at the very center of it all with an air that could only be described as giddy. Meredith’s brow furrowed. She’d never seen Weyland act like this before. Despite the joyful mood in the room, that hollowness began to grow inside her once again, like anti-matter in perfect opposition to the others’s happiness. A pressure-release hiss sounded and previously invisible seams around the coffin’s edges began to crack. In spite of herself, Meredith craned forward. 

 

“Give him some room! Don’t crowd him!” Weyland barked at the techs, who obediently scuttled aside. Weyland only moved in closer, barely edging away as the hatch swung fully open. 

 

When it did, Meredith covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. Inside the coffin-like apparatus stood a man. No, not a man, she knew. Only a disturbing facsimile of one. Morbidly fascinated, she watched as Weyland reached a papery hand up to clear small foam packing cubes from its face. As if it would start breathing. Its eyes slowly peeled open for the first time. For a moment they were dim and corpse-like until its internal battery powered up fully. Then the eyes brightened into sparkling, curious artificial life. 

 

“My David...” Weyland exclaimed. His voice broke in a sob. Meredith forced herself to stare at the false man’s eyes. A single point of focus. _Focus_ , she scolded herself, and schooled her expression into stoic blankness. The eyes blinked like a person’s but too regularly. Three second intervals, she counted. 

 

“Peter Weyland. It is an honor to finally meet you, sir,” the thing spoke. Its gentle, placating voice sent a bolt of revulsion through Meredith. Her stomach turned but she couldn’t look away. Weyland wiped his eyes and stepped back. The thing called David stepped forward, towering over him. It seemed disoriented for a moment, then fixed its attention on Weyland.

 

“Sir, it appears that you are crying. This is a sign of acute distress. Are you unwell?” David said in the same passive tone.

 

“Oh, David...” Weyland sighed happily, “There is so much for you to learn.”

 

He reached up and touched one unnaturally smooth cheek. He smiled through his tears. “We’ll always celebrate this date, January 17th, 2086. It’s your... your birthday.”

 

Weyland’s reminder of the date stirred another memory in Meredith, one that had long since slipped from the forefront of her awareness. It was a minor detail that had no real meaning aside from tracking the passage of time. She’d never understood the significance others attached to this detail, but watching Weyland... For the first time in a long time, she wondered. And allowed herself to remember: the red pixellated numerals of the timestamp in the upper left corner of her birth recording. 

 

_01-17-2056._


End file.
